Heart of the Western Wind
by Doctor-M
Summary: Elizabeth is haunted by dreams and memories, Jack Sparrow is running again, and the Trade Winds have disappeared. An adventure to the realms beneath the earth and back again. Read and Review!
1. Prologue

At first, Elizabeth thought she stood on the deck of the _Pearl_. The dark wood planks rolled beneath her feet -- feet bound in dainty slippers, hid beneath the flowing skirt of a dark, heavy dress. But the wood was somehow wrong. It had a golden grain, which glowed where the sun struck. The deck was clean and ordered, all the ropes and rigging wrapped and coiled in their places. The long evening shadows stretched like bars across the broad deck -- too broad a deck for the _Pearl_. White sails blazed gold and vermilion, reflecting the dying burn of the sky while, in the crows' nest, a young sailor played sweetly, sadly, on a trim tin whistle. One lone man clothed in a loose white shirt and navy breeches stood at the rail, his hands clasped behind his back, his legs planted surely and firmly on the shifting deck as he stared out over the sea. The sun shone in his short brown hair, soft and fine, tousled like a boy's. Elizabeth traced the weary lines in his back and shoulders, and a gentle, haunting familiarity whispered at the edges of her mind.

The young sailor in the crows' nest finished his melody with a long, lingering note, which died away on the wind from the sea. He put his whistle in a leather pouch at his side and swung lightly down from the rigging to the deck. He strolled over to the railing with an easy, swinging step and laid his dark hand on the other's shoulder.

"Ye look afar off into de bright night like ye look into de dark of a dead man's soul."

The young sailor's words, spoken soft and low, hung in the air like a strange and mystic chant, rising and falling with the wash of the sea against the sides of the ship. He waited, his head tilted, watching the other man with black, bright eyes.

The other man's head bowed, slowly, slowly down, and it seemed to Elizabeth as though the wind breathed a hollow sigh that floated across the deck and faded into silence.

The young sailor moved his dark hand from the man's shoulder to touch the his cheek. The man raised his head and half turned, with a small, crooked smile. Then he turned back to the sea and said in a low voice,

"Not dead. Not yet."

The sun, throwing out one last, parting flare of brilliant light, sank into the sea and left the earth blind.

Elizabeth stumbled back, struck by the man's voice as though by lightning, or flashing steel, and, in an agony of desperation and gunshot, she screamed out, "James!" -- but water filled her mouth and choked her, writhing arms caught her legs and dragged her down, a blade pierced her heart and broke her, and she drowned to the gentle chiming of a silver locket lost at the bottom of the sea.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, or any of the movie characters. I'm not trying to make money. Any resemblance of fictional characters to actual people is a complete accident…and very creepy.

"Mummy, Mummy -- wake up! Mummy!"

Elizabeth opened her eyes and sat up. She looked at the little figure beside her bed, his tiny hand still on her arm, his big, reproachful eyes wet with tears. She looked around the room, at the early morning sunshine falling through the window. She looked at her bed, and felt it with her hands, touching the mahogany posts, pulling the damask curtains, and gathering the blankets in bunches against her cheek. Then, she threw the covers off and swung her feet to the floor -- the solid, stable, still floor of her bedroom in Port Royal. She smiled in happy relief and stroked her son's silky hair, watching with a soft smile as the hair curled around her fingers.

"What do you need, dearest?" she asked.

He pouted. "Don't need anyfink. You called me. You said, 'James, James, Aaaah!'"

He pulled with one hand at his nightshirt, balled the other into a chubby little fist and jammed it in his eye, rubbing it as if to say, "I have been summoned at great expense, but I have come, out of my love for you, to aid you as I could. Here I am."

Elizabeth smiled again, and touched his cheek -- then snatched back her hand, and stared at it.

"Mummy?" faltered the boy.

She murmured, "It was only a dream," but did not raise her eyes from her hand. She turned it over, and over, no longer regarding it but staring out, far beyond her fingertips, to a far and shadowed horizon. William James Turner (or Little James, as they called him) burrowed his head into the folds of her skirt and clutched them to his cheek with one hand while sucking the plump thumb of his other. Elizabeth absently continued to stroke his hair.

They sat together in that manner while the morning sun grew stronger in the window and the noisy town bustle grew louder in the streets.

At ten, the mantle clock chimed the hour the very instant the bedroom door swung open with a loud _screech!_ of hinges. Elizabeth and Little James jumped and looked around.

Molly, Elizabeth's maid from former days, stood in the doorway, a little plumper, a little rosier, a wide smile and a little curtsey always ready. However, this morning her smile rapidly sunk into open-mouthed astonishment.

"Missus! Still abed, at this hour!" She hustled into the room and noisily slammed the door shut behind her. She bustled over to the bedside and began fussing with the bedcovers, her hands flying everywhere with an agitated flutter. "I thinks to meself, when I comes up, 'ere's Master James's room empty, and I thinks 'is mum took 'im fer a mornin' walk! Well! And 'ere you both are, not even dressed! And no breakfast and no washin'! Just like children, and one as bad as th' other! _Tsk! _Both just little children..." She continued in this strain as she shooed them off the bed and into clean clothing, straightened the room, and poured water into the washbasin. Indeed, she had continued in this strain for five or six years running, and mistress and master were still 'both just little children.'

"Why I comes, I says to meself, is because there's just no one else as knows 'ow to properly care fer everythin' (not that you could be expected to, missus, 'cause you're such a young mum, yourself, and all alone) and I says that to meself every livin' day when I comes at ten o'clock to do th' washin' and scrubbin' and make sure as there's a fire lit. And a good thing, too, fer sure as I stand 'ere, you two babes o' the cradle 'ud just sit all day and stare at the sea! All the livin' day!"

While she talked, she had thoroughly scrubbed Little James' face into a shining glow of cleanliness with the cold water, taking special care around his collar and behind his ears, and then had firmly guided both of her 'children' to a small bench before a mirror, where she now administered tender yanks to their hair with a large bristle brush. Little James submitted quietly, knowing from experience that objections received an extra vigorous pull, but he watched Molly out of the corners of his eyes until she had finished and turned her full attentions to his mother, and then stealthily reached up his chubby hand and disheveled his hair, returning it to its usual disorder. Elizabeth smiled at his curly head in the mirror, then closed her own eyes and endured, opening one eye every now and again when Molly disclosed an interesting snatch of gossip. All at once, both of her eyes snapped open and she grabbed Molly's wrist, which held the brush poised dauntingly over Little James' head. She stared at Molly.

"What was it you said?"

Molly raised her eyebrows, then lowered them and retraced her train of thought.

"I was sayin' as 'ow Mr. Gibbs was a talkin' with the sailors 'oo come into port at the inn, and 'ow they says there's loads o' ships stuck in th' ocean with no wind, and no fish, but waves are still just crashin' ships into the coasts."

"What else did Mr. Gibbs say?"

"Well! Why don't you ask 'im yourself, missus? 'Es waitin' fer you downstairs."

Elizabeth sprang from the bench.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

" 'E knows your 'abits, missus, and as soon as I asks 'im up, 'e says, 'I'll wait down 'ere for 'um.' But sometimes, by th' looks of 'im, I'd rather not trust 'im alone down there, if you catch my meanin'."

Elizabeth was not listening. She grabbed the brush from Molly and swept up her hair into a summary knot at the base of her neck (very, very unladylike in Molly's opinion), caught Little James by the hand, and dashed out the door and down the stairs, leaving Molly to sigh and cast up her eyes to the ceiling before cleaning up the washing water.


	3. Chapter 2

Elizabeth, once she reached the bottom of the stairs, turned immediately left and entered the parlor, where Gibbs reclined on the settee, perfectly at ease. Little James, unhampered by skirts or corsets, dashed ahead and leapt onto Gibbs' stomach. Gibbs instantly counter-attacked by tickling James under the knees and on his feet until he rolled off and onto the floor in an exhausted, giggling heap. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, leaning on the lintel and panting slightly, one hand over her waist, but smiling and laughing all the time.

Having subdued Little James for a time, Gibbs rose from the settee and held out his arms to Elizabeth with a broad grin. Elizabeth skipped forward and took his hands in her own, and kissed his weathered, whiskered cheek.

"I am so happy you are back!" she cried. "I was beginning to worry. Every time you're late to port, I convince myself that you must have drowned, or dashed upon the rocks, or --" She glanced at Little James, "-- or something."

Gibbs chuckled and nodded. "Aye. Ev'ry time I go to sea, I promise myself it's th' last. But ev'ry time I come ashore, I know that I'll go out again." He glanced out one of the parlor windows, toward the harbor. "She's a terrible mistress, lass."

"Who?" piped a little voice.

"Ah, Jamie! Just you look here and see what Uncle Gibbs has brought you." Gibbs reached deep down into one of his cavernous trousers' pockets, and dug about with a secretive smile. Little James ran to him and peered into the pocket as Gibbs drew out his hand. He held it closed into a hard fist, and no matter how Little James pried at the tough, calloused fingers with his own tiny, plump ones, he could not see inside. Gibbs also reached into his shirt pocket with his other hand and drew something out of it that he hid in a great closed fist. Then, with a wink, he put both of his hands behind his back and made faces while he passed the items back and forth between them. After a few moments, he brought out his hands and held them out to Little James, saying, "I've two trinkets here, one fer you, and one fer your mother. You pick one hand, and you'll get whatever it is inside."

Little James rammed a thumb into his mouth and seriously considered both hands, looking from this side then that, from the top and bottom. His eyes darted back and forth, and his brow knotted. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and, looking longingly at Gibb's right hand, pointed to the left. Gibbs opened his left fist, and on the palm was a little round shell. Elizabeth moved closer as Little James picked it up and inspected it. At first, it seemed ordinary enough, but when Little James scurried to a window and held it in the clear light, it glistened like mother of pearl.

"Pretty, isn't it?" called Gibbs. Little James looked up from the shell and regarded Gibbs. Gibbs smiled and motioned him back to the settee. Little James came, and placed the shell in Gibbs outstretched hand.

"Now, see this --" Gibbs jerked his chin at it, and looked at Little James with a sparkling eye. "This here shell be no ordinary shell as you can find ashore. In this here shell, some say, you can hear the voice of the Sea. You've got to hold it up, like this," he lifted it to his ear, "and listen very closely. Some hear only waves, whiles others, they hear the sea a'callin'."

He handed it again to Little James, who grabbed it and held it to his ear with an intent, wondering expression.

Gibbs turned to Elizabeth and held out his other hand. "This here's fer you."

Elizabeth reached out, but Gibbs held up a hand.

"First, you've got to pay the price, lass." He tilted his head and presented his rough, ruddy cheek. Elizabeth laughed and kissed him again, and then took the gift out of his hand.

It was a small golden coin, a little tarnished by age, but still bright in the sun. Elizabeth peered closely at its face, carved into the semblance of a crab. On the back was a ship, and the initials, _D.J_.

Elizabeth shuddered and clenched her fist over the coin so tightly that it dug into her skin, into the scar left by Barbossa's knife so long ago.

"Why did you bring me this?" she hissed, carefully turning away from where Little James sat on the settee with the shell to his ear.

Gibbs glanced at the floor, and at Little James, before rasping as quietly as he could, "Because the real messenger wouldn't deliver it himself."

He glanced significantly out the parlor window, as he had before, to the ships lying in the dock. Elizabeth walked to the window, and glanced out, trying to seem casual and disinterested. Just visible from her window, nearly hid by a cliff of rock, a black sail peeked round a bend in the shoreline. Elizabeth's shoulders slumped. She took a moment to look quizzically up at the sky before turning back around with a dazzlingly wide smile and saying cheerfully,

"I don't think it will rain today."

She and Gibbs regarded each other silently across the room, which seemed suddenly dark, as though a cloud obscured the sunlight.

An excited little voice broke the silence into bright, sunlit shards, crying,

"I hear it, Mummy, I hear it! I hear the call of the Sea!"

Gibbs turned with a grin of relief, and rasped, "Good, good! There's many a man that has heard that call, and answered it in their time, myself for one."

"And that's why you go to sea so long?"

"Yes, it surely is."

Little James turned his large brown eyes up to Gibbs'.

"What do you do for so long at sea?"

Gibbs started, cleared his throat, glanced at Elizabeth, and replied,

"Erm -- Fishing."

Little James nodded, the shell, still at his ear, bobbing up and down. He thought for a moment, then piped, "Can we see your ship?"

It was over an hour later, after Molly had fed everyone a hearty brunch and ensured that Elizabeth was wearing a proper hat to keep off the sun, when they arrived at the dock. Almost every sailor knew Mrs. Elizabeth Turner, and bowed deferentially as she passed, with a smile and a wave for Little James, who grinned back, but didn't removed his hand from his ear to wave in return. Gibbs greeted every sailor with a hearty bellow and salute, trading insults and boasts with the best -- and the worst.

At the end of a long pier, a small schooner lay moored to the dock. At her helm, a lean, dark figure waved as they approached, and called out,

"What! You scurvy rascal, Gibbs! Have you gone and found another love while on shore, or are you bringing Miss Elizabeth back home to sea?"

"Ah, my love!" Gibbs held out his hands as they approached, and grasped the slim brown hands of the other. "It's Missus Turner, now. You remember, I told you -- about the heart --" He touched his chest and made a beating sound in his throat. The other laughed with a flash of white teeth, and nodded. She extended a brown hand to Elizabeth.

"Welcome aboard."

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied. She looked at Gibbs, who seemed to recall himself, and said,

"Missus Turner, you remember Alania, don't you? She sailed with us aboard the _Interceptor_ and the _Black Pearl _awhile back. Before Barbossa went to greener shores and then came straight back to ours."

Elizabeth smiled graciously, and answered, "Of course. But I admit that I'm surprised. I thought you didn't like sailing with women?"

Gibbs grinned. "Oh yes, terrible bad luck. Must be why I never catch any fish."

Elizabeth looked around at the little vessel.

"And is this your ship? It seems a little small for such a long time at sea."

Gibbs ducked his head and glanced around.

"Well, erm, no. This isn't the ship, proper. This is just a little thing we use to approach port, send out small parties, and the like. Something we sort of, eh, picked up, you could say, aye?"

"Are you captain?" asked Little James, as he explored a pile of rope on the deck.

"Well... no."

Elizabeth raised her chin, and asked,

"Ah, then who is your captain?"

"Strange you should ask. In fact, he's been desirin' to meet you, and also Little Jamie here."

"Well," murmured Elizabeth, demurely, "We wouldn't want to keep him waiting."


	4. Chapter 3

Elizabeth grasped the knotty hand of Mr. Cotton, and stepped onto the deck of the _Pearl._ Its familiar patched sails hung in the humid air above and its old stained deck rolled below. Cotton gave Elizabeth a friendly leer, and his parrot, standing on his shoulder with one foot, squawked, "There be wind in 'er sails!" delightedly.

A few of the other sailors paused in their work to greet Gibbs and Alania, and to nod and smile at Elizabeth, before continuing to prepare the ship for their next voyage.

Elizabeth looked up toward the forecastle and spotted a dark, well-known figure at the wheel. She glanced at Gibbs, who nodded and took Little James by the hand, leading him away towards the main mast, pointing out and explaining everything from prow to stern with pride. Elizabeth turned and mounted the stairs. Coming out atop the forecastle, she walked over to the wheel, where the dark man stood, consulting his compass. She stood at his side for a moment, one brow raised and a little scowl fighting to become a smile on her face.

"Jack."

"Elizabeth." He looked up from the compass, but only stared out at the sea before consulting the direction of the compass again. "Or as it were, Mrs. Turner now, ey? What brings you here to me humble abode?"

Elizabeth frowned. "I was hoping you would tell me."

"I'm afraid I know little more than you do, love. Believe it or not, this wasn't my idea. My concept of thrilling adventure doesn't usually involve distressing damsels, death, or any combination of the two, whether subsequential or independent or infuriating. But it seems that my feelings, along with my ship and crew, have been subordinated to the inescapable needs and feelings of a power greater than that of our own, savvy?" He clapped his compass closed and gazed coldly at the sea.

Elizabeth stared at him a moment, then snapped,

"No, I don't 'savvy'! What on earth are you talking about?"

Jack turned his head and leveled a long look at her from his black, burning eyes.

"Don't you have her token?"

Elizabeth threw up her hands and stamped one of her small, slipper-bound feet on the deck, crying,

"_Whose_ token?"

Jack grunted and turned back to the wheel, but Elizabeth saw as he unconsciously rubbed his right palm on the side of his dirty breeches, as if to wipe off an unpleasant moisture. The image of a putrid black spot flashed through Elizabeth's mind, and she shuddered. She reached into a pocket within the folds of her skirt, and felt for the gold coin from Gibbs. It struck against her fingers and she lifted it out, glittering in the sunlight.

Jack did not move his head, but his eyes slid sideways -- and then snapped away. He stared into the distance as though suddenly chilled, every limb stiff with cold. His voice echoed, hollow, as he answered,

"That token."

Elizabeth turned the coin over in her hand. The crab symbol caught the light and Elizabeth, looking at it, thought that it seemed to move. She whispered, "Calypso," and clenched her hand. She stared at her fist, lost in thought, until she felt a slight shift in the deck. She looked up.

"Jack!"

The ship was moving. The town of Port Royal faded further every moment into the blue distance. The _Pearl _flew forward like a ship possessed, gliding on the glassy sea.

"Jack, take us back! Turn the ship around!" Elizabeth ran to the forecastle railing and searched the deck desperately. She spotted Gibbs leading Little James below decks.

"No! Gibbs!"

She started down the stairs, then spun back, her skirts whirling about her, and ran back to Jack Sparrow. She grabbed his arm and tried to shake it, but it remained iron hard on the wheel, and Jack did not turn, did not move his eyes from the empty horizon.

"Jack! You're the captain, make them bring the ship around! I'll go with you -- I will! -- just take my son back to shore! Jack, please!"

"I'm sorry, love." Jack grasped her hand and pried it from his arm. "I'm afraid the _Pearl_ is no longer under my command. She answers only to the sea."

Elizabeth stepped backwards, staring at him with wet, angry eyes, uncomprehending, and then spun around to grip the rail. She looked toward where Gibbs and her son had disappeared into the bowels of the ship, and she whispered into the still air, "Gibbs -- how could you?"

A tear dropped down her cheek. She looked over her shoulder at a hazy spot in the sea, all that she could see of Port Royal before it vanished entirely.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

Jack still stood at the wheel, regarding the distance, but softer lines framed his eyes. He spared a glance at Elizabeth.

"I'm not saying as you haven't had your share of pirates and turncoats and lying and what-have-you, but it still hurts, doesn't it, love?"

Elizabeth wiped her eyes with her sleeve and grasped the rail harder.

"And don't worry about the lad. Little --" He paused.

"James."

"-- Little James." He cocked his head and shot a bemused eye toward Elizabeth. "James. Hm. Sounds familiar. Does dear William approve or did you pick that one all by your one-sy?"

Elizabeth raised her chin and glared frigidly at Jack.

"Will and I picked it together. He thought it was very appropriate. And James is not my son's full name. It's -- William James --" She faltered, and looked back out at the sea.

"But no Jack?" Jack frowned and raised his eyebrows in disappointment. "And how about Hector? And now that I think of it, Joshamee has a lovely ring. Gibbs would be very pleased. But I suppose that you only use the names of your fiancés to christen your progeny, ey?"

"Shut up," Elizabeth growled.

Jack smiled wryly, and pulled the wheel of the ship a little to the right. He dug into a deep coat pocket where he had placed his compass and drew it out again. He flipped it open and stared at it. His stare turned hard and he grunted disgustedly, slapping it closed again.

Elizabeth turned. Her face changed, and she moved nearer to Jack, one hand trailing languidly on the rail, and asked, "What is our heading, Captain?" in a sultry voice.

"D--d if I know! Bloody, worthless, spinning compass! Pro'bly broken. Got water in the casing. Flamin' bloody heading."

A dark green glass bottle sat at the rail by Jack's side, and he snatched it up, ripped out the stop with his teeth, and pulled at the contents fiercely. He swallowed with a satisfied gasp, smacked his lips, and wiped them with his sleeve.

"Rum?" asked Elizabeth, eyeing the bottle hopefully.

Jack paused, his arm still at his mouth, and regarded Elizabeth. She looked up at him with large eyes and a quivering lip, as pitiful as possible. He narrowed his eyes and peered at her, up and down, and then he slowly extended his arm and offered her the bottle. She took it carefully. A wicked smile appeared on her face, and before Jack could snatch back the bottle, she threw it over the side of the ship. She listened to it splash into the water with closed eyes, a beatific smile on her upturned face. She then looked back at Jack complacently.

Jack, however, just smiled in return, his teeth dazzling white and gold beneath his beard, and murmured,

"So we're back to that, are we, love?"

He reached into his other pocket and drew out a little flask. He put it to his lips and tipped it up on its end. When it came down, it was empty, and Jack sighed, happily. He put it back in his pocket and returned his attention to the wheel.

"Good thing I came prepared, savvy?"


	5. Chapter 4

The sun was high and hot on the deck of the _HMS Boundless_ and the heads of her crew. A sailor, his legs wrapped in the upper rigging, his hands grasping the leads of a sail, craned his head to look out over the water. He squinted, then twisted around, cupping a hand over his mouth and crying,

"She's off and away, captain!"

On the deck, by the gunwale, a black tricorn hat tipped up, and a pale, gaunt face peered up at the sailor. The black tricorn lowered again with a smart nod, and the face disappeared beneath the black, brocade-edged brim. A shining, brass looking glass flashed up, and turned toward the open sea, where a spectral black shape sailed swiftly, serenely through the waters without a ripple of its patchwork sails.

The black tricorn and brass looking glass both belonged to a tall, stoop-shouldered man with sallow skin and pale, watery eyes. He licked his thin, chapped lips as he looked at the receding black ship, and made a hungry, gasping sound before telescoping the glass and swinging away from the gunwale towards the captain's cabin atop the forecastle. The dark tails of his coat slapped against the backs of his thin legs as he stalked across the deck. The coat's canary yellow lapels cast a sickly pall over his face, and the gold piping that marked him for captain clashed incongruously with his hunched, meager, starving look. His cabin, too, as he approached it, with its dark, latticework windows and black, weathered door, seemed to gape hungrily from behind its muslin counterpanes and brass knobs. Long familiar, long devouring each other with a ravenous, restless career, the ship and her captain, like kindred souls scouring the seas for a taste of peace.

Despite the years and aged acquaintance, the captain halted before the door of his cabin and bit a skeletal finger, his watery eyes jerking from the door to the windows, the deck to the sea, and back again while he gnawed at his hand. Only a moment, and then he yanked away his hand with a moist sucking sound and laid it on the doorknob.

The cabin door opened into a dark interior lit by a single candle -- for the sunlight, hesitant to enter the windows, seemed to creep in, and fall lifeless on the floor, drained of all warmth and light by the hungry darkness. The candle, weak and dripping, must have consumed all of the humid air inside the cabin, for the captain's mouth gaped open and closed several times as though for breath, and his pale, swimming eyes squinted and blinked painfully at the candle.

"Captain."

The voice that purred from the darkness accompanied a glint of straight, white teeth smiling behind the candle flame.

"Please come in, and close the door."

The captain bent stiffly from the waist, jerked back upright, and knocked the door closed with an abrupt rap of his knotty fist. He moved no further into the cabin, but continued instead to stand before the door and screw his weak eyes at the gloom, his hands stiff at his side, his shoulders drawn up about his ears. In the faint light he could see a hand wave impatiently, rustling the many parchments and papers strewn around about the candle's base.

"Well, my good captain? What are you come for?"

The captain's thin white lips parted with a shallow gasp, and the captain rasped,

"Seen the ship. Sailing northwards. Goes fast -- no wind."

"Ah." Like a sigh, luxuriously, followed by an expansive stretch, gold brocade and white silk glowing in the candlelight. "Perfect. Well done, my most admirable captain. Our long wait appears to be over." A black eye glittered. "Prepare the ship for pursuit, and don't disturb my solitude again until I summon you."

There was a moment's pause, and then the ghostly hand moved again, taking up a round-hammered piece of gold and turning it in its fingers. The voice, low and smooth, murmured,

"Slowly, silently, Captain Seare. You know how to hunt, do you not? How to blend into the darkness and hide in the shadows, how to lull to sleep your complacent prey with false and shrouded security? So, softly, cunningly, Captain Seare: just a little game of Cat and Mouse."

The teeth flashed again, even, white, and sharp. The dim hand tossed the coin onto the table and swept through the air, as though sweeping the captain away like a noxious fog.

"You are dismissed."

"My lord." Captain Seare bowed again, rigidly, and went out the door.

The bright Caribbean sunlight struck his wet, colorless eyes, and he winced, his mouth opening and closing, opening and closing.

Another officer approached, also dressed in the uniform coat and tricorn, and asked,

"What orders, Captain?"

Captain Seare fixed his rheumy eyes on his first mate, and cracked the knuckles of his gnarled, bony hands. He glanced hungrily out to see, and then back again at the stolid face of his mate, and he croaked,

"Fire the engines."


End file.
